


My Love

by demonessryu



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Banter, Established Relationship, Gentle Kissing, M/M, mentions of sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24548707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonessryu/pseuds/demonessryu
Summary: Brian chose the absolute worst time to try something new in their relationship. Roger was not amused.
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	My Love

**Author's Note:**

> I actually planned this to be ridiculous crack (or, well, as ridiculous as I can write), but somehow the words in my head ends up being more serious than I planned/wanted – you know what 2020 is like. But, humor is still attempted and somewhat achieved! I hope it makes some of you smile at least.

People express their love in different ways, both verbally and nonverbally. Freddie had always been generous with his ‘dears’ and ‘darlings’ for as long as Roger could remember. The frequency didn’t lessen the significance of the words, instead amplifying his caring and loving nature. He gave and gave, sometimes forgetting to take, until Jim came around and showed him what it was like to be really be loved by someone. John, a far more private man than the rest of Queen, quietly called his wife and children ‘love’ and ‘sweetheart’, always the adoring and devoted father and husband. He wasn’t a saint, just like the rest of them, but he was less enamored with superstardom than any of them. His mild disposition hid steel with which he protected his loved ones from the side effects of fame, which Roger sometimes thought was a waste of the success they had achieved through years of blood and tears shed in poverty and starvation. As for Roger, he liked ‘honey’ and ‘darling’ when feeling particularly affectionate (which was often, especially with the aid of alcohol in his system) and ‘baby’ when feeling wicked (the red flush adorning Brian’s face whenever Roger called him that in bed would never cease to amuse). He teased and joked, seeking the addictive rewards of smiles and laughter, and made gestures subtle and grand, depending on his ever fluctuating mood but generally fixed affection. He was a little too temperamental to always be loving, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t love Brian, who reserved his affectionate vocabulary for his songs but constantly indicated his love with glances and touches and shy kisses, uncountable sighs and eye rolls in fond exasperation and wordless search for attention and closeness.

Roger loved Brian, but sometimes he wanted more romance. Despite what the media claimed, he loved proper seduction – dates, gifts, vacations – to prove his affection. But, there had been no time for romance in a long friendship gradually turning into love, only a slowly dawning mutual understanding that had culminated in a private night of glasses of wine and a risk-taking kiss, followed by a week of flustered stilted conversations and too-big grins at the sight of each other. At Freddie’s exasperated demand, they had finally managed to have a proper conversation without too much squirming (in Brian’s case) and fidgeting (in Roger’s case). Then, it was almost as if nothing had changed. Their intense arguments were still intact and so was their habit of seeking each other for opinions and comfort. Only now Brian didn’t steal glances (too often) but openly looked and Roger pressed close to him and held his hand whenever the mood struck (what they did in the bedroom was to be kept private. Except for the few times Freddie and John begged them to invest on a gag). Thrill and passion were good, but quiet contentment was also very nice. Roger did wish sometimes that he wasn’t the one to initiate everything, but he could have his pick of any outgoing person and he still chose (would always choose) Brian. Whether there was any romancing or not, he loved Brian and knew Brian loved him in return, and that was all right.

Currently, however, Roger wasn’t all right. Or at least he wasn’t to the eyes of strangers. At the moment, he was embroiled in a deep argument with Freddie, disagreeing about the musical direction of their new song. Both of them having a flair for the dramatics, the debate quickly escalated. There were wild gesticulations and slightly raised volume, occasionally intercepted by commentaries from John. Their usual people, used to the heated but harmless display, sat back and waited, although with some nervousness just in case they were really witnessing the end of the band (and therefore their careers). John didn’t share the concern, sitting back with a serene smile that only cracked when he offered unhelpful opinions. Brian, Roger carefully noted, had retreated to the corner, Red Special cradled carefully in his arms as he tapped his lips thoughtfully – perhaps contemplating how to best get back to recording. Occasionally, their eyes would meet in a split second of communication and Roger would have to pause to take in his endless patience. Oh, Brian could be difficult and stubborn – Roger wouldn’t settle with anyone who didn’t have and couldn’t stick to their own opinions – but he was also sometimes unreasonably kind. He always understood what Roger couldn’t articulate. From the beginning, he had always been considerate and lenient. Roger had never asked why and what exactly he saw in Roger, but the knowledge that Brian would always be there for him was what won Roger over (and over and over and over...).

“Fine! Let’s do it your way and see how it sounds!” Freddie exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically, and sulkily made his way to the piano.

Roger smirked, pleased to get his way and confident that he would win his friend over again with an offer of beer at the end of the day. John sighed and got back to his position, presumably disappointed by the end of the entertainment. Roger turned to Brian, eager to share his triumph, and found Brian looking amused, which was more or less his default reaction anything Roger did. Even his anger passed quickly to be replaced by fond resignation when Roger deliberately irritated him, although before it did pass, he could easily match Roger word for word, breath for breath, beat for beat. They were equal, even though they couldn’t be more different. Roger could have someone – _anyone_ – else more similar to him in personality and attitudes, but none of them was Brian and so none of them Roger wanted to share his victories and losses and dreams and life with.

“It’s going to be a good song!” Roger proclaimed, pausing by his side on his way back to his drum kit.

“It is, assuming Freddie isn’t too upset to sing,” Brian said, glancing at the piano, where Freddie was grumbling about the stubborn insensibilities of the drummer kind. He made a rude gesture when Roger shouted that he heard him.

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Roger said dismissively. “We’ll have a drink later, all four of us,” he announced before frowning, remembering a date night he had carefully scheduled after weeks of complaining and sighing about constant work arguments. Unfortunately, there was only so much that venting and cuddling could fix, and Roger had planned to whisk Brian away to their country house for a quiet weekend before they had to make an appearance at some sort of show neither bothered to look into. He had looked forward to it, too: spoiling and tiring Brian late into the night and then watching and waiting for him to wake up in the afternoon. He also knew that Brian felt the same. However, it seemed like his latest squabble had thrown a wrench into his plan. “Damn it. I forgot our plan.”

Brian huffed, smiling placidly as if he hadn’t been denied what he had been looking forward to for days. “It’s fine. Pub night sounds nice.”

“Nicer than staying at our country house?” Roger retorted unhappily, a little offended that he was compared with sticky tables and barely comprehensible conversations. The fact that they had planned to be sticky and spoke in sentences as short as possible was beside the point. “We’ll leave early – they’ll understand. I’ll tell Jim to meet us down at the pub. He always makes Freddie happier,” Roger decided.

Brian had a look of understanding. Roger didn’t have to ask to know what he thought of: he knew what it was like to have someone’s mere presence make you happy. Only Roger’s displeasure at the sudden change of plan kept his heart from swelling uncomfortably with love. “Sounds good,” Brian said.

“And we’re _not_ going to the damn show one minute before we _absolutely_ must,” Roger continued to grumble, making his way to the drums, hoping that if they could get work done faster, they’d be able to go to the pub earlier, and he and Brian could fuck off to fuck sooner.

Brian chuckled as he turned his attention back to the Red Special. “Anything you want, my love.”

It turned out that hitting the drums with your head when you tripped over the drum riser was a very painful experience.

Roger sulked and complained all the way home, head and pride painfully bruised. Freddie had screamed the highest note in the known universe as Roger took a tumble. John had stared without a single smart thing to say, his quick helpful reaction apparently reserved for his growing army of children and their mum. Only Brian had proved his place among the best of mankind by immediately coming to his aid. Crystal, meanwhile, proved himself the worst roadie the country had to offer by laughing at the sight of his employer sprawled dazed over his destroyed drum kit and still laughing as he drove him and his worried boyfriend home. The only thing saving him from the certain fates of premature work and life terminations was Brian’s initiative to shoo him away as soon as they got home.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he passed Roger an ice pack. He sat down beside Roger on the sofa worriedly.

“Well, I’m _supposedly_ not concussed,” Roger replied sulkily as he pressed the ice pack to the biggest bruise on his forehead. The only good thing that came out of the situation was he and Brian were to be replaced by Freddie and John at the event. But, this development was soured by the aching bruises Roger was now sustaining, ensuring a weekend of bad mood instead of relaxation.

“You still could threaten to throw your drums at Crystal. You’re not concussed.” He examined Roger’s bruises for the umpteenth time. “You should’ve been more careful.”

“I was careful! It was _your_ fault!” Roger exclaimed, refusing to take the blame for his injury.

After years of dealing with Roger’s temper and peculiarities, Brian didn’t even blink at this accusation. “How was it my fault?” he sighed.

“It was what you said! It caught me off guard, so I tripped!”

Brian frowned. “What did I say?”

“What you called me! _My love_! You can’t just suddenly say that out of the blue!”

An argument could be made that blood could run almost as fast as light in the right circumstances as Brian’s face turned as red as his guitar almost instantly. He cleared his throat, eyes flickering away in embarrassment. Roger could tell that he was seeking escape, one Roger usually allowed. However, this time Roger offered no help, pursuing guilt and apology from the man the responsible from his battered pride. This was worse than the time he had accidentally turned his hair green, and there were pictures of that night circulated across the nation!

“It was _your_ fault that I got distracted!” he continued angrily.

“Um, well…” Brian trailed off, voice growing quieter as he was increasingly embarrassed. He squirmed awkwardly. “I wasn’t really... I’m just… I’m sorry.”

A little mollified by the apology, Roger huffed loudly. “What’s got into you?” he demanded, pressing the icepack harder against his throbbing head. “You’ve never said anything like _that_. You barely ever _write_ things like that.”

“I guess I just wanted to. Um. I won’t say it again if you don’t like it,” Brian offered tentatively.

Roger glared at him until he squirmed and muttered another apology. If pressed, maybe he would promise an entire album full of Roger’s songs (even if they were all about cars) to make up for it, but Roger was a generous man. “I never said I don’t like it.”

“So…” Brian asked, blinking rapidly in confusion.

“I was just surprised. I’m the one who says things like honey or love or _baby_.” He paused to enjoy the familiar flustered stammering the word incited. “You don’t say things like that.”

This was an indisputable fact. Brian’s attempts at sweet talk usually only involved Roger’s name spoken in varying tones of affection and desperation. It was fine – there was more than verbal words in communication. Roger didn’t really mind that Brian didn’t want to say anything like that as long as it was him Brian came to for second opinions, heated arguments, and unbridled fun. He had Brian’s commitment, which Roger understood was not lightly or easily given. Great efforts were made on both their parts to maintain a commitment to each other. They didn’t seek the arrangements they had had in their previous relationships that allowed them to be with strangers while away from their significant others. Knowing and witnessing how Brian carefully kept away from his zealous fans already made Roger quite content (not to mention inspired him to behave the same.) He didn’t _need_ verbal affirmation, especially one given at such a pride-risking moment.

“I don’t,” Brian agreed, nervously sucking on his lower lip. “But, I want to. I do love you.”

 _That_ , Brian said often enough, whispered in the middle of the night to the back of Roger’s neck, breathed quickly during the day with people around them watching their every move, spoken quietly when it was finally just the two of them at home, infused in everything he did around and for Roger. However, a term of endearment, especially something as profound as that, as ‘my love’, had never been attempted before. It was nothing as playful as ‘honey’ or as casual as just ‘love’ or as teasing (and a bit naughty) as ‘baby.’ It was serious, especially coming from someone as somber as Brian and in the tone he had used to say it. Roger could still hear it amidst the aches on his head, how softly it was spoken, how earnestly, like he was offering Roger a part of his heart or soul. Roger could almost imagine him on his knees, looking up to him, smiling in serene love, hands raised in reverent supplication. _Anything you want, my love_.

But, Roger didn’t want Brian on his knees – not like that, at least. His ego might rejoice knowing that Brian thought so highly of him, but his reasons knew it wasn’t right. Roger cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. Not because he didn’t take Brian’s love seriously or he didn’t want it, but because Brian tended to see the world from a romantic and sometimes unrealistic point of view and Roger needed him to see him for who he was: a flawed hot-headed man with an incurable compulsion to irritate him and a big ego to match his. Roger didn’t really mind unrealistic ideals from fans, but never from his partner, never from Brian.

“You could’ve said it at a better time – like when I’m not prone to falling over my drums! Crystal must be telling everyone in London about it now!”

“It wasn’t planned,” Brian explained in exasperation. “I didn’t think it would surprise you that much.”

“Well, it did! A little warning would be nice next time! I don’t want to hit my head again!”

Brian gave him a dry unimpressed look. “You seriously want me to warn you every time I want to say that?”

“ _Fine_. Only when I could hurt myself,” Roger allowed, trying and failing to keep amusement out of his unreasonable demand.

Brian sighed and shook his head, but there was a small smile on his lips that Roger couldn’t help but return. “How prone are you to getting hurt right now?”

Roger threw the ice pack to the coffee table in front of them. It made a loud clatter and narrowly missed a half-full glass of wine. He ignored the look Brian gave him. “Not very.”

Playing along with Roger’s absurd game, Brian nodded solemnly. He scooted closer to Roger and lightly kissed the prominent bruise on his forehead. Then, he pulled back and gazed at Roger with so much love Roger wondered how much space Brian had in his heart to contain it without being overcome. “I’m going to say it now,” he warned quietly. “Are you ready?”

There were many witty things that could be said in reply to that, but Roger couldn’t bring himself to say a single one. “Yeah.”

“My love,” Brian breathed before softly kissing his lips. “My love,” he whispered before diving in again for a tender kiss. “My love,” he sighed as Roger sank into the warm strength of his arms and kissed him in return.

Brian said it many more times that evening in varying tones and volumes. Roger said nothing back, happy to listen, content to getting himself accustomed to the new term of endearment. Brian probably wouldn’t say it very often – he wasn’t very free when it came to expressing his emotions – and it was such a pity to have to be denied the joy of the way his soft voice said those words and the warm light in his eyes as he affirmed his love. But, Roger knew Brian would still say it in private, when there were just the two of them and no one else, when the rest of the world didn’t matter because they had each other, and Roger thought, with no small amount of contentment, that it was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I was thisclose to making Roger shout “ready, Brian!” when Brian asked him whether he was ready or not. But, that would kill the mood. Half of planning this ridiculous thing was deciding on what sappy term Brian would use for Roger. I’m still not entirely sure why I chose my love. Maybe because it’s sappy and somewhat old-fashioned, maybe because I have Sara Bareilles’ [My Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37-Xah_ILQ0) playing in a loop in my head while writing this. Hey, at least it’s not [Sweet As Whole](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1IcqRbPk_bk).
> 
> Stay safe, stay at home if you can, stay informed. Feel free to talk to me on tumblr if you need company. I can be found on [tumblr](http://demonessryu.tumblr.com/).


End file.
